


Let Me Pour Some Poison in Your Ear

by wallmakerrelict



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallmakerrelict/pseuds/wallmakerrelict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel escapes from the hospital, but every time he tries to call the Winchesters Lucifer convinces him not to. Castiel's sanity keeps slipping as he begins to doubt that Dean even wants him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Pour Some Poison in Your Ear

**Author's Note:**

> Now available in [Russian](http://ficbook.net/readfic/467899) thanks to the wonderful [rjaffk](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/4358298/).

"Hmm," says Lucifer, somehow still beside me even as I run at breakneck speed, "How did you get out here, little brother?" 

All it takes is that suggestion from him, and suddenly the events of the last half hour are gone. In the weeks since Lucifer became a tenant in my head, I've managed to mostly separate out the delusions from reality. Still, he can really make my life difficult when he feels like it. 

I skid to a stop, kicking up dirt and pine needles. How did I get here? A moment ago it was all so clear, but now my mind races to figure out how I got from sitting in my stark white hospital room to running through a forest in the middle of the night. I look down to find myself still in my white patient's outfit, but with my old coat thrown over the top of it. I'm also wearing a pair of sneakers that I have never seen before. Slowly, I turn around. The edge of the forest is still in sight with the road and the hospital just beyond. I've escaped. 

But why?

"Hey, hot-wings! What do you think you're doing?" I turn back around to find Meg looking at me over her shoulder. Even through the worms in the hollows where her eyes should be, I can see that she is annoyed. And in a hurry. 

"What are we running from?" I demand. 

She grimaces. "Oh, great," she sighs, stomping back toward me, "You picked a fine time to go loopy on me again. Look, I told you. Crowley's goons are after you. The hospital is crawling with them. We've got to meet up with your pet humans if we're going to stand a chance, but first we've got to get as far from that hospital as we possibly can." 

She has almost reached me. Just as she begins to lift her hand to grab me, Lucifer reappears, leaning against a nearby tree. "Are you really going to trust her?" he says, wincing even as he smiles, "For all you know, she's leading you to Crowley herself. Besides, you're a lot faster without her."

He might be Lucifer, and he might be a hallucination, but I can't really argue with his logic. 

Meg must sense what I am about to do, because the annoyance on her face turns to anger as she snatches at me and shouts, "Don't you fucking dare!" 

She's too late. With a flap of my wings, I am gone. 

\-----

I'm not sure where I was trying to go, but this isn't it. I'm standing on what looks like a walking path in a park, the early morning mist rising off a nearby pond. I must have jumped a few time zones to the East. 

All at once, the events of the night catch up with me and I sink to the ground, my head between my knees. My powers were not at their peak even before I began to be tormented by Lucifer, and my short flight has taken the wind out of me. I sit for a moment as I collect my thoughts and plan my next move. I've eluded Meg and Crowley. Now I must find Dean and Sam. 

As I sit with my eyes to the ground, I hear someone approaching at a jogging pace. I ignore the sound until a young woman's voice says from just a few feet in front of me, "Hey, mister? You okay?" She sounds nervous. I don't blame her. With my mismatched clothes covered in blood and ichor, I would make me nervous too. 

I raise my head, ready to reassure her and ask her if she has a cell phone, only to find a demon's face grinning down at me. I leap to my feet with a shout and press my hand to her forehead. Nothing happens. 

"Hey!" she shrieks, swatting my hand away, and suddenly her face is that of a normal, lovely young woman. 

From a bench by the pond where I hadn't noticed him before, Lucifer begins to laugh. 

"Wait," I begin to say, "I apologize!" But she has already weighed her options and chosen flight. She is out of earshot before I am even finished speaking. 

Lucifer stands and saunters over to me, looking pleased with himself. "Sorry, Castiel," he says, "But, come on. Did you really think you'd be able to blend right in? You've got the angel thing working against you, and now you're crazy on top of that."

"Be quiet," I say, turning away from him, "I know what's real. You just caught me by surprise."

"But that's all I have to do," he says, spreading his arms and sliding back into my view, "I only have to convince you of something for a second, and you'll react. What will it be next? I wonder if I can get you to kill someone…"

I ignore him. I need to find Dean and Sam. 

I walk back the way the jogger came from, toward the faint sounds of civilization. When I arrive at the small town, it doesn't take me long to realize that my appearance is going to be a problem. People are definitely noticing the bloodstains on my coat. I take it off and carry it rolled up under my arm, the stains tucked out of sight, but now it is painfully obvious that I am wearing some kind of uniform. A boy actually stops as he passes and asks me, "Did you escape from a prison?"

His mother drags him away before I can answer, "No. A psychiatric ward."

After that, even though my powers are limited, I spare some of my energy to make myself invisible long enough to steal some clothes. I grab them out of a dryer at a laundromat and duck into a gas station restroom to change. With my hospital clothes shoved behind the toilet, I replace them with a pair of jeans that are just a bit too small for me and a t-shirt with a graphic on the front spelling out "Electric Light Orchestra." I am pulling the t-shirt over my head, wondering how one might create an orchestra out of electric lights, when suddenly Balthazar is lying at my feet and staring up at me with deadened eyes. 

I know it's not real, but that doesn't stop me from jumping so badly that I trip and fall, cracking my head against the toilet tank. I scramble to my feet. Balthazar is gone, and in his place Lucifer is holding his gut and laughing at me. "Two for flinching!" he sings as he throws two mock-punches at me. 

I leave the bathroom and go into the gas station's attached convenience store, Lucifer following me all the way. At the front counter, I find a stack of paper bags. I stuff my coat into one so I won't have to worry about anyone seeing the bloodstains, and when I look up the man behind the counter is staring at me. Either he noticed what was on my coat before I hid it, or I'm still not blending in as well as I'd like. Or both. 

"Do you have a telephone I can use?" I ask, hoping he doesn't find me strange enough to chase out of his shop. 

"Not a public one," he says. 

"I need to call my friends so they can pick me up," I try to explain. 

He sighs. "Stranded, huh? Well, okay, you can use the phone. Just don't let anyone see you." 

He lets me behind the counter and turns his back to me as I begin to dial. I'm not even through the first three digits when Lucifer sucks air in through his teeth loudly and says, "You sure you want to do that?" 

I can't answer, not when the man behind me might hear. I punch the next two numbers, but my hands are shaking now. 

Lucifer shimmies around the counter to stand right in front of my face as I dial. "Why would you call him, of all people?" he says, "How do you think this is going to play out? It's not like Dean is going to be thrilled to have an angel who's out of his gourd riding around in the back seat while he tries to save the world."

That pricks at my pride. Of course I don't expect Dean to be thrilled at my mental state, but I do hope he might be pleased to see me. Certainly he will want to know that I'm safe. "I'm getting better," I whisper so quietly that I barely hear it myself. I glance over my shoulder. The gas station worker didn't hear me. 

But Lucifer did. "You've had some good days," he says, flipping his hand back and forth equivocally, "But don't flatter yourself. Next time Dean asks for your help, you'll have to tell him, 'Wait, just let me ask my dead brother if it's okay. Oops, nope. He says I'm going to spend the rest of the day in the fetal position. Maybe you should just leave me in the car.'"

"I can still be useful to him," I mutter. I've forgotten what number I was on. I hang up and start over. 

"You are a liability," says Lucifer, pointing his finger between my eyes, "Dean's a Hunter, and right now he's busy cleaning up the mess you made. He's not going to have time to sit with you and bake you cookies whenever big brother is mean to you. Whatever small usefulness you have left is far outweighed by the effort it would take him to keep you in working order. You would be a millstone around his neck."

"No…" I begin to say, but Lucifer is on a roll. 

"Say whatever you want," he says, "But don't tell me I'm wrong. You know, deep down, that when he picks up the phone and hears your voice, his heart will drop a little. Because that's just one more problem to add to the pile. Now, on top of everything else he has to do, he has to come and take care of you."

"Shut up!" I say, far too loudly. Another glance over my shoulder confirms that the gas station worker is now staring at me as if I might start gnawing on the appliances at any moment. 

I slam the phone back into the receiver and flee the store as quickly as my legs will take me, pausing only to scoop up the bag containing my coat. 

\-----

"I'm only trying to look out for your best interests," Lucifer pesters me as I walk down the street, hugging the paper bag, "You and Dean will only make each other miserable. It's best if you just stick with me. You don't need anyone but your big brother."

I want to tell him that he's not my big brother, that he's a hallucination, and that even if he were Lucifer that would hardly be a reason to trust him. But I'm on a busy street and I'd rather not arouse too much suspicion. I walk in silence. 

"Giving me the cold shoulder?" he says, weaving in and out of my path, "That hurts, Castiel. You'd better get used to me. I'm the only company you're going to have for a very, very long time."

It doesn't take me long to decide that I had been foolish not to call Dean back at the gas station. I had let Lucifer get to me. If I could just talk to Dean, everything would be fine again. I just need privacy. Lucifer will surely try to keep me from making the call, and I don't want anyone nearby to notice that I'm hearing voices. 

The next house I pass appears empty- all the lights are off and there are no cars in the driveway. With a quick glance down the street in both directions, I confirm that no one is watching before I wing my way inside. Sure enough, no one is home. I find a phone and sit down on the couch to work up the nerve to dial it. 

"This again?" says Lucifer, suddenly perched above the fireplace, "I thought we'd been over this, Castiel."

Since there is no one to hear, I indulge him by answering, "Dean may regret my mental difficulties, but he would rather know where I am than be left wondering." I begin to dial the number, trying to get through it before Lucifer convinces me otherwise. 

Lucifer shakes his head sadly. "I didn't want to bring this up," he says, "But you're just not getting the hint. Kid, after all the things you put him through, he doesn't want to see you. He doesn't want to have anything to do with you. Hell, even if you manage to work up the nerve to call him, I doubt he'd even bother to come pick you up."

"That's not true," I say, dialing slower and slower with each number, "He was happy to see me even when I didn't remember him."

"Well, yeah," says Lucifer, shrugging, "Back when he needed you to fix Sam's head."

"And I did," I say. Dean's number flashes on the phone's display, but I have not yet pressed the call button. "I saved Sam. I redeemed myself." 

Lucifer laughs out loud, shaking so hard that he almost falls off the lintel. "You think that was even close to enough?" he hoots, "Have you forgotten about the Leviathans? You made up for one tiny, little mistake when you fixed Sam up. Actually, you don't even really deserve credit for that, since you were only repairing the damage that you did to him. But none of that changes the fact that you started the damned apocalypse. The apocalypse that Dean is now trying to avert."

"He forgave me," I say fiercely as I press the button. The phone begins to ring. But then doubt hits me. Did Dean really say that? All the memories from around that time are so warped. I'm almost certain that Dean forgave me at some point, but I can't say exactly when or in what words. 

Lucifer doesn't even bother attacking my weak memories. He can do better than that. "Aw, and it's really precious that you believed him," he says, "Come on, Castiel. He was leaving you in a loony bin. He knew he was never going to see you again. Sure, he might have thrown you a bone as he scooted out the door, but he didn't offer to take you with him, did he?"

The phone clicks. Faintly, I hear Dean's voice say, "Hello?"

But Lucifer's words have already begun to work on me. All he has to do is add, "He left you behind for a reason, Castiel. He never wanted to hear from you again."

"Is anyone there?" the voice on the other end of the line says as I throw the phone against the wall, shattering into a dozen pieces. 

\-----

There is a little cemetery right outside of town. That's where I end up wandering. Lucifer follows at a distance, seeming pleased with the effect his words have had on me. He doesn't bother adding to them yet; he just lets me stew on what he has said. 

If I were in my right mind, it would be easy to tell the truth from the lies the way I do with my visual hallucinations. But there is something about the way he speaks. Somehow his words worm their way into my brain and lodge there, twisting and eating at me. He could tell me the most blatant falsehood imaginable and my addled ears would hear a ring of truth in it, so what chance do I have when he tells me things that seem so very reasonable? 

I try to remind myself that he isn't real, but then perhaps it would be easier if he were. At least then he wouldn't be inside my head with access to my deepest and most painful doubts. If he were real, the worst he could do is kill me. 

I sit at the base of an angel statue and stare across the field, wondering what I will do with the rest of my life if I cannot return to Heaven or go to Dean. What is left for me here?

"You're better off without him," says Lucifer, settling down beside me as if he is my friend. 

"He may be better off without me," I admit, "But I need him. I will always need him." 

Lucifer sighs in exasperation. "You poor idiot," he says, "You never did catch on to the way he was using you from the very beginning." 

And at that my heart freezes cold. Not because I believe him, but because my memories from before are my one refuge. The one place that Lucifer hasn't touched. But now he attacks them, warping them before my eyes, twisting them to suit his argument before he has even begun to make it. I want to run, but I can't run from what is inside me. "Stop it," I groan, grinding the heels of my hands into my eyes. 

"Think about it," he wheedles, "You were always a tool to him. A weapon. Did he ever show you an ounce of kindness when he didn't need something from you?" 

Of course he did. Many times. I just can't think of any of them now that my memories are all jumbled. 

"And that's before he found out you were working with Crowley," Lucifer continues, "Yowza. I took a peek back at those memories when you were catatonic, and man is that fucked up. All the times he worked with demons, and he disowns you for that? Think about the way he treated you. Face it. He's never cared about you."

I shouldn't have come out here. Now I'm trapped, alone with Lucifer. There's no one here to distract me from him. "No," I try to say, "He was trying to stop me. To protect me. I was wrong about Crowley. I was wrong about Purgatory."

"But he didn't know that," says Lucifer, "All he knew was that you were starting to have a mind of your own."

I am curling in on myself, trying to keep him out. "No, that's not it," I sob, "He always wanted me to make my own decisions."

Lucifer almost sounds sad as he says, "No, little brother. He wanted you to do as he said. To follow his orders instead of Heaven's. And as soon as you stopped doing that, the moment you truly started thinking for yourself… _he turned on you._ "

It doesn't really matter whether he is telling the truth or not anymore. All I know is that I can't bear to live like this, with Lucifer as my only company. If I can't go back to Dean, and I can't live alone, then I really only have one way out. 

I turn my hand over, and my blade is clenched in my fist. Lucifer looks down at it and nods. "That might be best," he says as if it hasn't been his plan all along. 

It's amazing how quickly I am becoming accustomed to the idea of suicide. There is no doubt in my mind. There is only a question of logistics. Should I fall on my sword? Attempt to cut my throat? Which would be quickest? I cannot wait to meet that sweet oblivion, where Lucifer can't hurt me and I don't have to think about the possibility that everything Dean ever told me was a lie. 

As I fit the pommel of my sword to a notch in the base of the statue, pressing the blade to my chest to see if the angle is right, Lucifer eggs me on. "That's it, little brother," he says, "It can all be over. Don't worry about Dean. He'll be happier once you've gone. He never loved you."

I am actually about to let the blade take my weight when the meaning of his words hits me. He is telling me that Dean never loved me, even though love has never entered into our arguments before. What possible reason could he have for telling me this, unless there is some truth there that he is trying to hide from me?

Even as I kneel there, the tip of my sword resting over my heart, I close my eyes and search my fractured memories for some hint, some clue. It comes to me in a flash. No context, no timeframe. Just a sensation. Just Dean's lips pressed to mine.

Is it real? Is the ghost of a sensation on my lips a fading memory, or a particularly vivid fantasy? There is no way to know for sure. There is only my faith. 

I stand. The blade falls to the ground. 

"Don't chicken out now!" Lucifer whines. 

I look down at him, dazed. "I think…" I choke out, "I think Dean loved me, once."

Lucifer closes his eyes, the picture of long-suffering frustration. "Little brother," he sighs, "This is getting really pathetic."

"No," I say, my voice stronger now, "You're not real. Everything you've said… you're just trying to confuse me."

He rolls his eyes. "I'd actually say I'm succeeding," he says, "So are you going to kill yourself or not?"

With a wave of my hand, my blade disappears again. I don't so much as glance at Lucifer as I scoop up the bag with my coat in it and stride back toward the road. 

He bounces after me, calling out, screaming abuse, but his voice is just so much background noise to me now. I know what I have to do. I must take advantage of this brief moment of clarity before I sink back into the pit of my despair. 

There is an elderly woman walking past the cemetery. I rush out to meet her, saying, "Please, do you have a cell phone?" 

She raises her bag as if to hit me, but then she takes a second look at me. "You look like you've been through hell," she says. 

"In a more literal sense than you could possibly be aware of," I assure her, "A phone? Please?" 

She regards me dubiously, but finally she pulls a cell phone out of her bag. "If you run off with it," she says as she hands it over, "May the Lord strike you down."

"That's not likely," I mutter as I dial Dean's number as fast as I can. Lucifer's voice is going non-stop in my ear, but I am still able to block it out for just a little longer. 

When Dean's voice comes in through the phone, the first thing he says is, "Meg, is that you? Have you found him yet?"

It is so far from what I was expecting that all I can say is, "What?"

I have to hold the phone away from my ear for a moment as all I can hear is the screech of tires. When it is over, there is a short pause before Dean bellows into the phone, "CAS?" 

I tell him where I am. "Please, Dean," I say, "I'm sorry about everything. Just please come get me. I need help."

"Shut up," he says, "Don't move. We're on our way." 

\-----

My immunity from Lucifer doesn't last long. It takes Dean and Sam four hours to drive to where I am. I spend most of that time huddled behind the cemetery gate, disoriented and swimming in self-loathing as Lucifer punishes me for my moment of defiance. 

I am snapped out of it by the familiar rumble of an approaching engine. Standing and dusting myself off, I see that it is starting to get dark. I stagger out to the sidewalk as the Impala pulls up, and as I wait I try not to shake too much. 

Dean parks crooked and jumps out of the car. "You son of a bitch!" he shouts as he stomps his way toward me, "Where the fuck have you been?"

Sam is right behind him, explaining in a more even tone, "Meg called us right after she left the hospital. She said you'd taken off. We didn't know where you were." 

Dean takes over again, "We didn't know if Crowley had gotten you, or if the angels had decided to get some payback, or if you were just lying in a ditch somewhere! What, did it take you a whole day just to find a fucking phone to let us know you weren't dead?" 

"I…" I try to say. My voice is weak, and it's hard to put words together after the beating my mind has taken. "I'm sorry. I tried to call. It's just…" 

Suddenly Lucifer hisses in my ear, "Look how angry he is at you!" And even though I can tell that Dean is angry because he was worried, and not because he hates me, it still makes me flinch. 

Dean misses it, but Sam's face falls as he recognizes what it means. "Dean," says Sam, tapping his brother on the arm, "Give him a break, man. He's in bad shape."

Dean's face finally softens just a bit as he says, "Right. Well, get in the car." 

I slide into the back seat. Sam asks me questions as we drive. Was I followed? How many of Crowley's men are after me? Am I still seeing Lucifer? How often? Right now? 

I answer as best I can. I don't think so. I don't know. Yes. All the time. Yes. 

Dean glances at me in the rearview mirror every few seconds, but all he says is, "Really, man? ELO? I'm disappointed in you."

When we pull into the parking lot of a motel a couple of towns away (just in case there were demons on my trail), Dean runs around the car to meet me as I get out. Without a word, he takes the paper bag containing my coat from me and hands me off to Sam by my elbow. "Grab us a room and keep an eye on him," Dean says to Sam, "I'll be right back."

I follow Sam silently as he procures us a card key and gets us settled into a room. Finally, when the silence has stretched on too long, I ask, "Is Dean very angry with me?"

Sam chuckles. "Dude, he was just worried about you."

"No," I say, "Not just about today. About everything."

The smile fades from Sam's face. "It's complicated," he sighs, "You know Dean. Everything is complicated with him."

"Yes, I know Dean," I say quietly. 

"For what it's worth," says Sam, "I forgive you. You saved my life. Took that bullet for me. All the rest is water under the bridge."

I reply, "That is worth a lot to me." 

Sam pats my shoulder on his way to collapsing into bed. "Okay. Sorry man, but I need to sleep," he says, "We pulled an all-nighter before Meg called, and Dean hasn't let me sleep since then. Too busy looking for you. Will you be okay on your own?"

"I'll be fine," I say. 

"Seriously," he adds, "I've been there. You wake me up if it gets bad, okay?" 

Even if Dean never forgives me, I am very lucky to have Sam Winchester as my friend. "I will," I say, "Thank you."

Sam is asleep almost instantly. I take up a seat in a little straight-backed chair by the window, and wait for Dean. 

It doesn't take long for Lucifer to make a reappearance. With a wave of his hand, the window stops showing the parking lot and becomes a viewing screen for all the horrors I ever committed. I watch impassively, trying not to wake Sam. I lose track of how long it has gone on, how many angels I have seen burning out their wings at my feet, how many humans I have watched choking on their own blood. I take it because I know that I deserve it, even when Rachel's dead face turns to accuse me, "I trusted you, and you betrayed me. Everyone you care about ends up dead, and it's all your fault."

"Cas?"

"Ahh!" I gasp, jumping in my seat. The window abruptly returns to normal.

Dean drops something over the seat back before putting his hands on my shoulders from behind. I don't turn to look at him. Lucifer can play with what I see, but if I can feel it then I know it's real. The weight of Dean's hands is a steadying comfort. "Sorry," he says, rubbing my shoulders soothingly, "I didn't used to be able to sneak up on you."

"I'm fine," I say, but even I can hear the sob in my voice. 

Dean's hands tighten over my shoulders. "No, you're not," he says.

"No, I'm not," I quietly agree, "But I'm better with you here." I hate myself for saying it. I never want to make him feel obligated to stay with me. I don't blame him if he wants to drop me right back off at the nearest hospital with a psychiatric ward. 

But he doesn't sound upset when he asks, "How's that?"

"It's easier to remember what's real and what's not when I have someone to talk to," I explain, "I can usually tell, but I get confused about some things. Especially when it comes to you. So having you here – the real you – it helps."

He's silent for a while before he asks, "What don't you remember?"

I don't ask him if he only ever thought of me as a tool. That was an obvious lie by Lucifer, so obvious that it only worked on me when I was already at my wits' end. But there are other, subtler doubts. "After I healed Sam," I ask, "Did you tell me that you forgave me?"

"Yes," is all he says. 

"Did you mean it?"

He hesitates. "Look," he says, "It's not like I've forgotten everything you did. You fucked up really bad, and we're still feeling the aftershocks. But you made things right with Sam, and I'd be lying if I said that I've never fucked up in a big way before. So yeah, I meant it. I still mean it. We've still got some work to do, but we'll be okay."

That, just hearing that, is such a weight off my chest that I would be content to leave it at that. But his hands are still on my shoulders, and I have other questions. 

"When you left me at the hospital, did you ever intend to come back?"

"Fuck, Cas!" Dean says so loudly that I worry he will wake Sam, "What kind of a question is that? Of course I did! I promised you I would."

"You did?" I breathe, "I don't remember."

"Yeah, well you were pretty out of it," says Dean, "That's why we couldn't take you with us. You're a lot better now." He leaves it unspoken, but I can tell that we are both thinking it. Now that I am somewhat better, maybe I can stay. 

I blurt out my last question before I can convince myself not to. "Did you ever kiss me?"

His hands slide off my shoulders. I take that to mean, "No."

"I'm sorry," I stammer, "I didn't mean to..."

But then I hear his shirt rustle as he bends down, placing his arms gently around my shoulders and resting his chin on the seat back so that his mouth is right behind my ear. His voice is halting and uncertain when he whispers, "You really don't remember?"

I breathe out a long, slow breath. So it was true. That fact is so huge that my mind doesn't even know what to do with it. "I think I do," I say, "It all gets twisted around."

Dean's right arm is draped over my shoulder, his hand resting against my chest. Slowly, he curves his thumb and pinky under his palm so three fingers are visible. He taps those fingers against my chest as he says, "Three times."

He curls his ring finger and holds it with his thumb. "Once the night we trapped Raphael." 

He does the same with his middle finger. "Once right before we faced Michael and Lucifer at Stull Cemetery."

Only his index finger remains. He bends it too, making a fist. "Once when I left you at the hospital, when I promised I'd come back for you."

I close my eyes. If I focus very hard, I can remember the first two. I can't remember the third, or his promise, no matter how hard I try. But I believe him. 

His fist relaxes, his fingers splaying out against my chest. 

I turn my head. I hadn't realized how close he was to me until that motion brings us face-to-face, our noses almost touching. He doesn't pull away. 

"Make it four?" I request. 

He makes it five, and six, and then seven. He turns the chair around so he can stand over me from the front, and makes it eight and nine. He pulls me upright and makes it ten. He makes it eleven, twelve, and thirteen on our way back to his bed, stepping on the backs of my shoes to kick them off my feet, and fourteen as we collapse into the sheets. I almost expect him to begin tearing the rest of our clothes off, to take more and more of me, but he doesn't. He throws the covers over us both and makes it a long, slow fifteen as he wraps me up in his arms, safe and comfortable, content just to lie here and kiss me as if we have all the time in the world. 

"I'm never gonna leave you again, Cas," he whispers to me, and that's when I lose count. 

"He's lying, Castiel!" Lucifer is shouting at me, "They'll all leave you in the end!" 

It's almost as if Dean can hear it too, or maybe he just feels the way I tense against the words, because he repeats, "Never." When he pulls me close to him, snuggling his face into my neck, I decide that I trust Dean more than I trust Lucifer. 

Dean's breath slowly evens out, and I can almost pinpoint the moment at which he falls asleep. I allow my eyes to wander. Lucifer is still here, but I find that I can tune him out in favor of the steady sounds of Dean's breathing and heartbeat. 

My gaze drifts over to the chair where I had just been sitting, and my own breath catches in my throat. My coat is there, thrown over the seat back, the tan fabric catching the moonlight through the window. Ever since Dean returned it to me outside the hospital, its blemishes have read like a catalog of my sins. Each stain and wrinkle have reminded me of a murder, a betrayal, a loss. 

But there, laid out in the moonlight, there is not a drop of blood on it. Dean has made it as good as new.


End file.
